"How's Jonas?"

"Growin' so fast, Laurie can't keep him in clothes."

"Laurie?"

Pause then, "Fuck, man, forgot. I got married."

Walker stopped dead and he heard someone behind him let out a squeak and scuttle around him but he didn't move.

"No shit?"

A definite smile in his voice before, "No shit."

"The woman from the news," Walker stated.

"Yeah."

He tried to remember if he'd seen any photos of her when all that shit went down with Tate and that serial killer who had kidnapped his woman and stabbed her with the intent to rape her with that knife before he killed her which, luckily, he didn't get around to doing. They'd reported it on television and during a variety of sports commentator shows considering Tate had a very short-lived career as a linebacker in the NFL.

He'd watched it in the joint, seen photos of Tate, none of his woman.

But it didn't care if she was butt ugly. She wasn't Neeta, Tate's old bitch from high school and on and off for what seemed would last an eternity. Fortunately, it didn't and Tate got shot of her and could talk about being married with a smile in his voice. Unfortunately, Neeta had been one of the victims of the serial killer Tate tracked down. Neeta was so much of a pain in the ass, she was the definition of a cunt, just a shade better than Misty but not by much. Still, no one deserved what went down with her.

Except, maybe, Misty. And he knew thinking that made him a dick and he didn't fucking care.

"Told her about you," Jackson said in his ear. "She's already conspiring with Maggie, planning a celebration for your return."

Fuck.

"Not necessary," Walker said as he started walking again.

"Don't fight it, Ty. When Laurie's in the mood to be friendly, no one can stop her. And you know Maggie."

Terrific.

"And, trust me, she cooks for you, you'll wonder why you even considered fighting it," Tate went on.

At least that was something.

He pushed open the doors and hit the plush interior of the exclusive jewelry store. The clerks looked up at him and he noticed two go pale. They were the men. The women had a different reaction.

They always did. Though they'd rethink their reaction if they knew he was an ex-con and what he was sent down for.

He didn't care. All he cared about was it was air conditioned. Spending five years in a correctional institute in southern California he'd had enough hot to last a lifetime. It sucked it was the beginning of summer. Even his hometown of Carnal in the Colorado Mountains would get hot.

But when winter hit... heaven.

"Gotta buy a ring, Tate," he muttered into the phone, going direct to one of the women who was smiling slow, turning fully to him, not knowing she was about to make one fuck of a commission.

"Right," Jackson replied.

"Got a new number. This is Lexie's phone. I'll text it to you."

"Right," Jackson repeated.

"Later."

"Later and Ty?" he called.

"Yeah."

"Congratulations, brother. Be happy."

"Right."

Walker flipped the phone shut.

Chapter Three.

Signing Bonus I sat in the passenger seat of my own car, the glossy, violet and ice blue cardboard folder that carried our wedding photos and a large envelope with our marriage certificate was sitting on my thighs, a huge bouquet of roses was in my hand, the Vegas traffic was heavy, Walker was driving us back to the hotel.

We'd been married by Liberace. Not the real one, obviously, since he'd passed. A fake one. I didn't know you could be married by Liberace. I knew Elvis would marry you, Liberace, no.

I found this hilarious, totally loved it. If I knew you could be married by Liberace, even if I was head over heels in love with the man I married and thinking I was starting a life that would last forever, I'd blow off the traditional and go for Liberace in a chapel festooned with violet, ice blue and a liberal hand with silver gilding. It was freaking awesome.

But I wondered why Ty Walker chose Liberace. I didn't think he got a kick out of it because, as far as I could tell, he had no sense of humor... or any emotion, really. It was likely because it was the first wedding chapel we happened upon so he swung the Charger in.

When we arrived inside, the vestibule was packed. Two brides all kitted out in big dresses. One had at least two dozen friends and family around her, groom in a tux, girlfriend in a bridesmaid dress, another male in a tux wedding party. This was planned. They'd picked Liberace specifically. Their posse had come with them, vacation and big event. The other bride and groom had about half a dozen friends around them, the bride's gown clearly off the rack and not fitting properly and her hair was a mess as was her makeup. Her groom was wearing shorts. She'd probably donned that gown in the car. They'd been partying and were about two sheets to the wind, teetering on three. Not planned. Spontaneous but happy. Good times that may, or may not, be regretted in the morning. I couldn't tell. Right now they seemed giddy with happiness but it could be giddy with booze. They'd wake up tomorrow and realize they'd done the one thing that could happen in Vegas that didn't stay in Vegas. And looking at their loopy, drunken grins, I hoped they didn't care.

Walker walked me up to the desk that had a huge display of real wedding bouquets and shelves of boxed confetti in every color behind it and also behind it was a diminutive woman with loads of dyed, dark hair ratted out into hairstyle the likes of which I'd never seen and, not to be mean or anything, I hoped I'd never see again. She also was sporting an excess of bulky rhinestones which adorned her at ears, neck, wrists and fingers and so much makeup it was unreal. It wasn't a look I'd choose but she worked it, except the hairstyle.

"Love is in the air!" she cried when we stopped at the tall counter that was topped with glass under which were photos of happy couples, the bride and groom sandwiching a smiling-like-a-lunatic Liberace sporting an enormous, lilac-hued pompadour, these pictures intermingling with printed menus of wedding packages. "We've got a wait of about half an hour, a bit more. I hope that isn't a problem," she went on.

"Nope," Walker replied.

"Excellent," she breathed, clasping her hands in front of her then she took us both in. "What'll it be? Menu's on the counter. We got a basic version then add-ons or you could go with the deluxe package. And, I tell all my lovebirds, whatever you do, go for the bubble machine even if it's just as an add-on. Nothing says joy like bubbles," she advised and I pressed my lips together to stop from giggling but even though I thought she was funny, I couldn't exactly argue with the fact that nothing said joy like bubbles, I'd just never thought of bubbles like that. She looked behind us then at us. "You need witnesses?"

"Yep," Walker answered.

She leaned in. "We throw that in, freebie."

Walker just stared at her.

"That's great," I said.

"Basic," Walker said and her smiling, love is in the air eyes went up to him and her face fell a little.

"Oh," she whispered.

"Cash," he added.

She gave him a top-to-waist and muttered, "Right." Then she moved to the cash register.

My eyes moved to the bouquets.

After Walker told me what I needed to know for now and gave me thousands of dollars to make it so, I'd braved the Vegas heat and gone shopping. I was exhausted. I wanted a shower and a nap but he was intent on getting this done and I figured, if we did it then it would be over, I wouldn't have a mind filled with whether or not I'd made the right decision or kicking myself for getting played by Shift rather than upping stakes and getting the fuck out of Dallas about thirty seconds after we laid Ronnie in the ground.

And as I tried on dress after dress trying to find one to get married in, I thought about the men in my life (by the way, the first dress I'd been instructed to get I'd found right away a wedding dress, not so easy and, incidentally, I'd done a detour from Walker's instructions in order to buy a bikini, a hopeful effort that I might eventually get to veg beside a pool where every girl knows she can let the sun bake away her life, however crazy it is, and I needed that for certain).

In thinking about the men in my life, I started at the beginning and counted them down.

First, there was my grandfather. A decent enough guy if you didn't know him. Not so decent if you did. Total shit at being a Dad. This was evidenced by the fact that my mother was a mess. He hadn't learned any lessons from what went bad with her before taking me on. This was because, first, he didn't want to learn and second, he was the kind of man who always thought he was right so he didn't think there was anything to learn and my Mom flying off the rails was therefore all on her not on the fact that her mother was a weak woman cowed by an overbearing man and her father was more interested in football than fatherhood and expected the women in his life to tow the line and wasn't best pleased, and showed it, when they didn't do what he wanted even if he hadn't expended the effort to explain what he wanted.

There you go. Enough said about Granddad.

Then there was Ronnie.

And, enough said.

Then there was Shift.

Definitely enough said.

Now there was Ty Walker, an admittedly gorgeous and weirdly honest yet still unforthcoming ex-con who went to a pimp to get himself a wife for reasons unknown.

Again, enough said.

Evidence was suggesting in the man department I should give up while the giving up was good.

So, upon finding my wedding ensemble, an extortionately expensive dress full price that had been marked down twice and I knew why, only a buyer would see it on the hanger and know it was fabulous, I decided to give up while the giving up was good.

In other words, this would be my only wedding. I was done with men and that done could be displayed in neon lights, that was how done I was.

And I had a fabulous dress, great shoes and Ty Walker's diamonds.

And since this was it for me, I wanted a bouquet.

"Can you, uh... add on a bouquet?" I asked the lady. "Ring it up separately. I'll pay for it with my credit card."

Her gleeful eyes came to me and she cried, "Absolutely, darlin'!" Then she threw out an arm indicating the bouquets like she was the gowned eye candy on a game show. "You pick."

I looked at the bouquets and instantly spotted the one I wanted. "Top row, second one in."

A huge, close bundle of blush-colored roses mixed here and there with gorgeous ivory ones. Nothing else. Just roses pressed together tightly. Elegant. Gorgeous.

"Fabulous choice," the woman approved, moving to the bouquet, she plucked it out and I saw the spray of stems was bound with a wide, ivory organdie ribbon tied in a big bow. She turned, offered it to me, I took it and she announced, "One hundred and fifty dollars."

Oh my God. One hundred and fifty dollars? There were a lot of roses, probably two dozen, maybe even more, they were gorgeous, each one sheer perfection, but still.

I stared down at the bundle, muttering, "Um..."

"Add it," Walker rumbled and my head jerked back and to the side to look up at him.

"You don't " I started.

His eyes tipped down to me. I shut up.

"All righty, lovebirds," the woman chirped.

"Photo," Walker stated and I looked from him to the now beaming woman.

"Five by seven or eight by ten?" she asked.

"Two. Of both," he answered.

"No problem," she stated. "Anything else? Confetti?" She did the game show thing with her arm again, indicating the boxes of confetti behind her but eyeing my dress. "We got pink."

"No," Walker said firmly, she bit her lip and I waded in.

"My man isn't a confetti type of guy."

And this I knew to be true. Earlier, he'd returned to our hotel room while I was in the bathroom getting gussied up for the big event. When I came out, he barely looked at me even though I was coiffed, made up and had the dress on (but my feet were bare) before he passed me and went into the bathroom saying, "Delivery will come. Accept it. Tip. The boxes on the bed are for you." Then he disappeared in the bathroom.

No, "Honey, you look fabulous," which I wasn't expecting but his eyes didn't even flare. Nothing. My dress was fantastic, it fit like it was made for me, it was sexy yet elegant and my hair had totally behaved for once and it looked amazing, all this but nothing from Ty Walker. I could have been wearing a potato sack.

So definitely not a confetti guy. I was surprised he wanted pictures.

After he went into the bathroom, I'd gone to the boxes on the bed but the minute I spied them, my step had gone hesitant.

That was because the boxes on the bed were a very distinctive color and they were tied by white, satin ribbons. And there were four of them.

I'd sat on the bed and slowly opened the first one, finding it hard to breathe.

It was a set of earrings. Diamonds clustered in the shape of a flower. Gorgeous. Not huge. The sparkle and setting saying it all. The fact that the post was screw in laying testimony to how expensive they were. They were not earrings you'd want to lose because the doohickey fell off the back.

The second box held a necklace, a delicate white gold chain on which was suspended a flower cluster of diamonds that matched the earrings. The pendant was larger than the earrings, eye-catching but not ostentatious.

The third, a diamond bracelet made up of the same flower clusters. It was extraordinary and it had to be at least five times as expensive as the earrings and necklace because it was all diamonds linked with thick, white gold links.

I put the first two in and on but couldn't do the clasp on the bracelet one-handed because it was too complicated.